


Be My Valentine

by pixie_rings



Series: Let Love Grow [5]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Altho have a thample of the motht annoying lithp ever, Cupid is a bit of a douche, F/M, I'm so sorry, Jack Has Issues, M/M, North has a crush, This is really late guys, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Valentine’s Day, and even though it’s the height of the final rush for Easter, Jack and Bunnymund decide to spend it together. Cupid, however, has other ideas…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> So Valentine’s Day was… February 14th. It is now August. Fuck you, world, I do what I like (actually guys I’m like super-sorry this is so late omg I’m a terrible person).

“Soooo… Valentine’s Day.”

Bunnymund looked up from his egg-painting – he’d hiked up production in the last few days, mainly because Easter fell early this year – and gave a twitch of his whiskers that Jack knew was the Bunny equivalent of a tug at the corner of his lips. He was trying not to smile, the old grump.

“What about it?” he asked casually. Jack rolled over onto his front and placed his chin on his folded arms, egg and paintbrush long abandoned. The egglet seemed rather peeved over being unfinished polka dots, but Jack was an extraordinary procrastinator when his mind ran headlong into something else.

“You know what I mean,” Jack said with a good-natured huff. Bunnymund feigned ignorance magnificently, eyebrows raised in mock-bewilderment that North or Toothiana might have found convincing. He was going to get Jack to squirm for it, naturally. They stared at each other for a moment, until Jack lowered his gaze, cheeks frosting as he nervously picked at blades of grass.

“So, um… Do you… Do you think you can take a break, or is it too close to Easter?” He looked up hopefully, and he knew Bunnymund couldn’t resist hope. That, or Jack’s killer set of puppy-dog eyes, an ancient art taught to him by none other than Bunnymund’s favourite ankle-biter. He wondered at himself for a moment. He’d come a long way, he thought, if he was actually _asking_ Bunnymund about his schedule. Love did funny things.

Like make it snow in Cairo in July. Man, that had been _fun_.

Bunnymund looked in pain for a moment, biting his lip as he gazed at the still-unpainted eggs. “You must be rubbing off on me,” he said slowly, as if carefully gauging the amount of damage the words would do to his reputation, “because I reckon I could take a day off.”

Luckily, Bunnymund was by now well used to flying hugs given to him by a skinny armful of cold. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s slim waist and allowed the sprite a moment to burrow into his fur with a chuckle. Finally Jack pulled back, the grin across his face practically luminescent.

“You do realise this is our first Valentine’s Day together?” he said. He didn’t miss the way Bunnymund’s ears dipped and he lowered his gaze, and with a smirk he kissed the Pooka on the nose. “Closet romantic.”

Bunnymund spluttered his indignation, which only served to make Jack laugh and roll his eyes.

“Come on, I know you by now, Cottontail,” he said. His tone turned halfway, from teasing to affectionate. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s just me and you, and I can see through the big bad warrior façade a mile away.” He carded his hands through Bunnymund’s thick ruff, slowly rubbing into the Pooka’s collarbone with the pads of his fingers. Bunnymund hummed, a non-committal purr, and settled back, one paw rubbing at the small of Jack’s back while the other stayed on his thigh. Jack chuckled, low and hot and clearly suggesting something he dearly hoped Bunnymund would pick up on, and leant down for a kiss.

.

“Howdy, pard’ner.” Jack floated down with his hands behind his head, back-pedalling through the air as he grinned at his First Believer. “Someone looks grim.”

Jamie glared at him. “I hate Valentine’s Day,” he said. “It’s girly.”

“Doesn’t have to be girly if you don’t want it to be,” Jack said, flipping in mid-air and landing silently. He continued walking slowly beside Jamie as the boy made faces at shop windows full of pink, frilly hearts and other stuff Jack thought was not only cliché, but in rather bad taste.

“It is,” Jamie ground out, stubborn. “Why are you so happy, anyway?” he demanded. Jack went from thoughtful to beamingly besotted in a nanosecond.

“I’m spending the day with Bunny.”

“Don’t you do that most days anyway?” Jamie asked, wrinkling his nose at a crowd of giggling middle school girls.

“Yeah, but today’s different,” Jack said, completely seriously. “Which also reminds me that I’m late for my date.”

“You’ve gotten so soppy since you and Bunny got together,” Jamie complained. Jack ruffled his head, pressing the boy’s woollen hat down, to Jamie’s loud annoyance.

“It’s the hormones, bud,” he said. “When you get them, you’ll understand.”

“I never will!” Jamie protested in horror, as if the very idea he might end up like that was the worst thing that could ever happen.

“You will,” Jack assured him with a positively diabolical smile. “Now, gotta fly. See you soon, kiddo.”

With that he took off with a cold gust of wind, darting over the rooftops with a whoop. No matter what Jamie said, he didn’t spend every day with Bunnymund. Sometimes, he didn’t even get to see him for a whole week. In winter Jack had a fulltime job which involved wandering across the planet, in whichever hemisphere had it coming, and Bunnymund spent a year preparing for Easter in between bringing spring. To spend the entire day with him during rush season was… pretty awesome, really.

He landed not far from the boulder which was his entrance to the Warren, and inserted his Warren key into the niche made especially for it. Whistling something inane, he made his way down the tunnel, heart filled with something that felt remarkably like joy, butterflies running riot through his stomach, and my, wasn’t that cliché? He chuckled to himself, his cheeks dusting over with frost as he finally reached the warm ever-Spring of the Warren, the light still morning delicate.

“Hey, Rabbit!” he called, hopping up onto a rock. He nearly jumped out of his skin when hands slipped over his eyes, but he relaxed when a low, warm laugh rumbled through the body behind him, the pressure of leathery pads familiar.

“Got a surprise for you, ice block,” Bunnymund murmured, husky, and it went straight from Jack’s ears to his groin. Bunnymund knew exactly what that voice did to him, the _fiend_ , the _scoundrel_ , the incommensurably sexy _bastard_. He swallowed.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, trying to tug Bunnymund’s paws off his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bunnymund echoed. “Now stay right here and I’ll get it.”

“Aw, it’s portable,” Jack complained, pouting. Bunnymund raised an eyebrow.

“What did you think it was?” he asked, amused. Jack yoked his staff around his neck with a wicked grin.

“Something naughty,” he teased. “You should be the Guardian of Mind-Blowing Sex, not Hope.”

Bunnymund stared. “Could your mind be any bloody filthier?” he said, sounding equal parts appalled and amused.

“Dunno. What’s the record?”

“I, just… just stay there.” He sounded strained, and all Jack could do was laugh at that. Getting Bunnymund all flustered was the best pastime after racing avalanches.

After five minutes, Bunnymund still hadn’t come back. Jack was sitting now, cross-legged with his staff across his lap and his chin on his palm, and he was one second away from going to see what the overgrown rabbit was up to. Honestly, they’d been together seven months, surely he knew Jack had the patience of… of something particularly impatient.

With an exasperated huff he stood, graceful as a dancer, and gently descended from the rock, landing on soft grass. As he made his way across the meadow, staff on his shoulder, he saw Bunnymund emerge from the bizarre cross between a traditional Japanese house and a Hobbit hole (not that Bunnymund knew what a hobbit was – that would have to be rectified soon) he called his home, carrying something. He was focused, however, not on Jack, but on something in the sky behind him. Jack turned, and stared.

What the hell was Toothiana doing here?

The first thing he thought of was an emergency, but she didn’t seem worked-up enough for that to actually be an option. She settled into a hover beside Bunnymund and waved her hands a bit before showing him a piece of paper. Bunnymund took it, obviously puzzled, and studied it.

_“ARROWTH AWAY!”_

Bunnymund didn’t even have the time to dodge. The arrow hit him square in the behind, and immediately dissolved into a cloud of pink glitter. He drooped a little, eyes closing, and when he reopened them…

_There she was._

_How had he not seen how beautiful she was before now? The sheen of sunlight on her jewel-like feathers, the delicacy of her magnificent plumage, the haunting lilac of her lovely eyes…_

Jack could only stare in horror, rooted to the spot like a deer in headlights, as his boyfriend and resident older-sister-figure wrapped themselves around each other and proceeded to indulge in the kind of cliché kiss one saw at the end of crappy romantic movies, complete with a theatrical dip.

“Thcore!” hiccupped someone behind him, and as Jack turned, stomach completely upside down, he caught sight of an overweight, white-clad bottom disappearing in a puff of purple sparkles. His mind was slow to catch on, nevertheless. He turned back around only to see Bunnymund holding Toothiana’s hand and crooning at her. She was blushing and giggling and Jack was sure he was going to puke.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?!” he demanded, dashing over on a potent gust that made the grass of the Warren shimmer. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“Rack off, Frost,” Bunnymund snapped. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Jack froze, as ridiculous as that sounded. Bunnymund hadn’t called him by just his last name in ages. He gripped his staff, eyes darting from one to the other, but neither of them paid him the slightest scrap of attention, too wrapped up in each other. He took a step back, shaking his head, trying to tell himself he wasn’t about to cry because, dammit, it wasn’t like he was four or something, but it was too hard.

With a howl the Wind gathered him up and flew him to the tunnel to Burgess, his insides churning with a vicious, fiery, freezing mixture of anger and heartbreak.

.

It took Jack a few hours of freezing electricity cables to sort his emotions out, get them under control and actually figure out what the fuck had happened (and also to stop crying, but he wasn’t about to admit that). Bunnymund wasn’t bastard enough to be cheating on him – from what he’d told Jack, not only were Pooka loyal to a fault, but also monogamous – and besides, any fool could tell that this mysterious new infatuation had something to do with that arrow and that annoying lisp and that fat ass.

With a growl he surfed along another wire and landed in a crouch on the top of the pole, scowling. Right, this needed to be sorted out. Bunnymund was _his_ , for God’s sake, and he was not about to let Toothiana get all close and personal with him, spell be damned. Because it _had_ to be a spell, there was no other explanation.

 _Whose_ spell, however, was completely lost on him. With a huff, he rose from his perch and headed back to his lake, to retrieve a portal to Santoff Claussen. Whatever this whatthefuckery was, he was pretty sure North could help him some way or another. Huffily he pulled the glass globe from its safe place in a hollowed-out tree and tossed against the trunk of another tree. Immediately a whirlwind of images appeared and he dove headfirst into it, gritting his teeth against the head-spinning sensation of instantaneous spatial movement. North would easily give him another one, he had so many, and this was too important to waste hours of travelling on.

Jack came out in the Globe Room, not too close to the fire. Shouldering his staff determinedly, he headed to North’s office and barged in.

“I need some information!” he barked.

North looked up from his sculptures and raised his bushy, greying eyebrows. “And hello to you too, Jack,” he said archly. Jack’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and North rose from his chair, folding his tattooed arms across his barrel chest. “What can I be doing for you?” he asked. “You are looking quite serious.”

“Bunny and Tooth were making out!” Jack blurted, and the words left a horrible, bitter, ashen taste in his mouth. He munched and swallowed, trying to clear it. North now looked as alarmed as he felt.

“What? That is not like Bunny or Tooth! Are you being serious?”

For a moment Jack was furious North might accuse him of joking about something like that. “Seriously! We were supposed to spend Valentine’s together – me and Bunny – and all of a sudden this arrow came out of _nowhere_ and he just started kissing her, and –”

“Ah, there is problem!” North said, punching his palm. “Arrow!”

“Yeah, I figured the arrow was important,” Jack muttered. While any fool could have told it wasn’t real, it had still struck Jack to his very core. His and Bunnymund’s kisses were never like that, never so sweeping and romantic. They were born of rolled eyes and playful banter, or hot, burning passion. It left a hideous, gaping hole where his heart should have been, to think that their careful building of something sincere and profound could be so easily demolished by a stupid magic arrow.

“Is Cupid’s arrow. Not good news.” The huge man stroked his beard, lips pursed thoughtfully. “He can only be using arrows on Valentine’s Day, and it appears he has used one on Bunny. Was first person he saw after being hit by arrow Tooth?” he asked, and the falsely light tone betrayed something Jack had been suspecting for a long time.

“Yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be here whining at you,” Jack snapped. “What can I do?”

Now that he thought about it, he’d heard of Cupid. In passing, of course, mostly hearsay from the few spirits he’d managed to get close enough to over the years. He was some sort of love god, or something.

“You must speak to him about it, I know nothing,” North said, sounding pained that he couldn’t do more. Jack gave a brisk thank you and headed for the window. He had it half-open before he stopped and turned sheepishly.

“Um… where exactly do I find this guy?” he asked. North beckoned him out of the office and back to the Globe Room.

“He has palace on Mount Olympus,” he explained, perusing the shelves under the European section before handing one to Jack. Without waiting a moment, he threw the globe on the floor and dove into the portal, more than ready for whatever lay on the other side. Cupid would rue the day he’d ever been born.

.

Olympus was… fluffy. And grassy at the same time. It was a strange dichotomy that Jack found hard to wrap his head around. Here and there were the ruins of old palaces, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns scattered, splintered, on the ground, broken, forlorn statues of owls, dogs, swans and every other sacred animal littered everywhere… Lack of belief killed gods as surely as it did Guardians, and a return to paganism was two thousand years too late.

With a whoosh and an echoing laugh, someone landed beside him. The youth, probably slightly younger than Jack himself, cocked his head and grinned, the sky slightly visible through his skin, a strange shade of white-blue. He tossed his wind-wild hair back and walked at Jack’s side, hands behind his back, but ever a grin on his face.

“Sorry about you and Bunnymund,” he said, his voice resounding all on its own. Jack’s face became determined, his grip on his staff tightening as they made their way through the ruins.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m going to fix this. And kick Cupid’s ass while I’m at it.”

“I’ll take the lesson to heart and never mess with your _erastes_ ,” said the Wind, chuckling.

“My what?” Jack asked. The Wind waved his question away dismissively and pointed ahead to a gaudy-looking palace, the only one still standing.

“Your destination.”

“That’s…” Jack couldn’t find the right words. ‘Sickening’ would have been a good description. ‘Nauseating’ and ‘horrifying’ were also excellent choices. His face was, he hoped, enough of a clue to his thoughts on the thing. The whole front was bedecked in pale pink banners. A cloud of paper hearts fluttered down over the entrance, ensuring anyone who stepped through would be covered in them. There was an opalescent dome on the roof, decidedly un-Hellenic, but it seemed to fit, somehow. Probably because it looked so tacky. The Wind nodded his sympathy and wished him good luck.

Steeling himself despite the urge to puke, which he seemed to have a lot of today, Jack hopped up the steps to the gauzy curtain. He pushed it aside with his staff with a disgusted look and stepped inside, feet meeting cold, white marble.

It looked like an insane and very flamboyant interior decorator had gone on a Greek-obsessed bender. There were gossamer curtains hanging everywhere, potted plants in round marble vases, architecturally useless columns supporting cornucopias and statues of kissing couples. On a wall hung a golden bow, and beneath it several quivers of gold-fletched arrows. Chaises and cushions littered the floor, and it was so very, very bright, given there was only one solid wall and that faced north. It must have gotten the sun all day, and despite the fact that outside it was February, inside it felt like early June.

There was a moan somewhere up ahead, and Jack frowned. What he’d first thought was a pile of rather ugly cushions arranged haphazardly upon a chaise on the raised dais in front of him moved an arm and placed an ice bag on what looked like a mop of blond curls.

“Hey, Cupid!” he yelled. There was another moan and two eyes opened to peer at him.

“Not tho loud,” Cupid whined. “My head feelth ath if it’th about to ecthplode.”

“Like I care,” Jack snarled, marching forwards. Cupid sat up with great difficulty and squinted at him.

“Who are _you_?” he asked. Jack placed a foot on the last step, staff held forward and expression furious.

“I’m Jack Frost and you’ve made the biggest mistake in your life!” he said, voice like ice. Cupid looked completely nonplussed for a moment, then his plump lips pursed into an ‘o’ of understanding.

“Oh, yeth, you’re the new Guardian of Childhood. Jollity, wathn’t it?”

“Fun,” Jack stated coldly. “I’m not here about me. I’m here about Bunnymund.”

Cupid blinked, and Jack had to wonder whether he was always this slow. “Oooooh, yeth! Yeth, my magnum oputh for thith year! I’m thuch a geniuth!”

Jack stared. He had to be kidding, right? Cupid continued blithely on, blissfully unaware of Jack’s ire.

“Oh, yeth, I alwayth wanted to bring thome romanthe to the poor fellow, alwayth tho _alone_ , but I couldn’t figure anyone out! And then finally, the wine gave me the anthwer: _Toothiana_! Aren’t they jutht abtholutely _perfect_ together? I mean, really, complete OTP!”

Had a fat has-been Greek god actually just said ‘OTP’? Jack pushed the separate horror of that to the side and darted up the last steps, grabbing the cloth around the god’s chubby body and heaving him forward. It was more difficult a feat than he cared to admit, but he showed no weakness.

“What the _hell_ did you think you were _doing_?!” he snarled. “Bunny is with _me_!”

Cupid stared in disbelief. “Ecthcuthe me?” he protested, placing his hands on his hips as Jack cringed at the scent of stale wine on the god’s breath. “That can’t be right. I’ve been thtudying him for weekth. You weren’t around at any point!”

“When?” Jack demanded.

“Dethember.”

Jack happily let go of the thick cotton, letting Cupid fall back to the chaise, which creaked threateningly, and rubbed a hand down his face. This couldn’t be happening to him. It was insane. Ludicrous! He was supposed to deal with Nightmares and Krampuses and Wendigos and reason with Baba Yaga when she and North had argued again, not… not stupid love gods gone haywire. It made sense that Cupid hadn’t seen Jack around Bunnymund in December, because he’d been spreading winter across Canada and the Nordic countries.

That was, however, no excuse.

“Yeah, well, you got it wrong!” Jack raised his staff, right in the god’s now-cringing face. “Reverse it!”

“I can’t!” Cupid whined, wringing his hands. “I can’t reverthe the rethult of any of my arrowth!”

Man, that lisp was starting to get on Jack’s nerves. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried his hardest to calm down, though it was hard when all that he could see in his mind was the image of Bunnymund – _his_ Bunnymund – and Toothiana kissing, making gooey eyes at each other, on a loop, continuous. It was pure psychological torture. And even though Jack knew Bunnymund didn’t mean it, he couldn’t exactly help the vicious, hot tides of jealousy that poured through him, thick and molten, like magma.

“Listen, you idiot,” Jack spat from between gritted teeth, “is there _any_ way I can break this spell? Any way at all?”

Cupid was avoiding his eyes and being terribly obvious about it. “Well…”

“Tell me!” Jack demanded. Cupid winced.

“Are you alwayth thith polite?” he complained, pouting. Jack’s eyes narrowed to shards of ice and he tapped the marble floor with the base of his staff. Immediately the whole place iced over: the chaises turned to frozen blocks, the flimsy drapery to fine, crystalline curtains and the plants to delicate frost sculptures. The columns glistened and the floor shone as the temperature dropped dramatically, their breath leaving clouds of steam in the air. Cupid gulped with a feeble grin, shivering.

“Point taken.”

With a glare Jack tapped the ground again and the ice disappeared, melting quickly into nothing. He felt a little guilty about the plants, now withered and dead with the extreme cold, but it was for a worthy cause. Sort of. Jack just wanted his boyfriend back.

“Well?” he prompted, folding his arms. Cupid stood, fixing his loincloth and throwing a strip of cloth over his shoulder fastidiously. The haughty effect was ruined by the way he swayed on his sandaled feet, clearly betraying the fact he’d probably had more wine than was wise.

“The only thing that can break my arrowth’ thpell ith true love’th kith. You have to convinthe Bunnymund of your true and pure intentionth and he hath to acthept your kith willingly. Tho no jutht jumping him and thnogging the life out of him, you underthtand. He hath to kith you back.”

Jack would have almost smirked if he hadn’t been feeling so awful. His intentions weren’t always exactly _pure_ , but they were always true. He loved Bunnymund, and he’d convinced him of it once. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to do it again, even with that arrow throwing a figurative spanner in the works? He had all the time in the world, after all…

“You have until midnight,” Cupid informed him. If Jack could have paled, he would have. “Midnight in _Athenth_ , that ith.”

Ok, that was considerably worse.

“That hardly leaves any time at all!” Jack protested. The hand on his staff tightened, clearly wishing it was around Cupid’s neck.

“My mother made the ruleth, not me,” Cupid said sniffily. “I only go on the foundationth she laid.” Jack growled, and Cupid wilted under that icy glare. “Sh-shouldn’t you be taking advantage of what little time you have and perthuading Bunnymund of your affection inthtead of threatening me?”

“If this doesn’t work…” Jack said menacingly, and no one could have missed the seriousness in his voice. He turned and headed back outside, running a hand through his white hair with a groan. How the hell was he going to do this?

The Wind rose from his cross-legged seat on the fallen head of what was probably Zeus and swept over to where Jack had slumped onto the steps of Cupid’s palace.

“Well?” he asked. Jack groaned again, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ve got no hope,” he said morosely, huddling in on himself. The Wind placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, his touch rippling the fabric with a slight breeze.

“Bunnymund is Hope itself,” he said with a smile. “I can help. I can push Toothiana away, or something like that. I’m full of resources,” he added, straightening proudly. Jack chuckled a little, standing up and taking flight.

“I’ll need all the help I can get,” he said, heading in the direction of Santoff Claussen.

.

When Jack got to North’s workshop, bidding farewell to the now once-more incorporeal Wind, Sandman was there as well. An urgent flurry of images appeared above his head, and Jack, despite having gotten better at interpreting them, simply couldn’t keep up. The worry on his face was explanation enough, however.

“Well?” North prompted, sitting them all down at the table in the large dining hall. Jack shook his head.

“Cupid can’t do a thing,” he muttered, staring at the floor between his knees. North slumped down in his chair, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Sandy’s lips rippled with a silent huff, his tiny fingers drumming the table.

“I have to convince Bunny I’m for real. As in, true love’s kiss, all that jazz.” He tilted his head against the back of the chair, now staring at the carved roof beams. Maybe they’d reveal some magical solution if he stared long enough. “I have no idea how I’m going to manage this.”

Sandy pounded his fist against the table and pointed to himself and North with a grin. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? How exactly are you going to do that?” he asked. Sandman tapped his own chest with a smug smirk. Well, leaving it to Sandy couldn’t be much worse than not doing anything at all. A ticking clock appeared above Sandy’s head and Jack sighed.

“I have until midnight. In _Athens_.”

The exclamation point easily communicated Sandy’s alarm. He summoned a beautiful golden hourglass, filled with dreamsand. He frowned worriedly at it, stroking his chin.

They would have to work fast indeed. Of course, the Warren being out of Earth’s temporal clutches helped somewhat, but they had ten precious hours. Only ten hours. Every grain of sand seemed to echo as the three stared at the hourglass solemnly.

“We can do this,” North said, ever the optimist. “It is not that hard. Bunny loves you, Jack, even through pink haze of arrow. He will remember.”

“God, I hope so,” Jack said, and no, that wasn’t a sob he’d managed to choke halfway down his throat. Now that his anger and confusion had dissipated entirely, it left a horrible, gaping hole in his chest. And all he could see was Bunny and Tooth, and it was the most horrible sight he’d ever seen. It was like a train wreck: he simply couldn’t stop his mind from playing it, over and over like some sort of sick movie theatre.

He jumped slightly when a small, warm hand patted his. His eyes met Sandy’s, and the gold spoke of the pain of loss. Jack couldn’t quite fathom that yet, so caught in his own woes, but he smiled back nevertheless.

“So… got any ideas?”

Sandy tapped the side of his nose and winked.

.

The dreamsand went where Sandy wanted, because dreamsand couldn’t be blocked by magical wards or inter-dimensional barriers of any sort. An airborne palace did nothing to stop him, neither did a Warren out of time and space or the barricades of a powerful wizard. And because Sandy was a star, and the dreamsand was part of him, he went where he liked as well.

That was how he came to be in the Warren. Friends helped friends, and he hated seeing Jack so distraught. He could see why too: he easily found Bunnymund and Toothiana. They were sitting on a rock and being so horrendously lovey-dovey it made him a little bit queasy. Jack and Bunnymund were in love, that was obvious, but they had a different way to go about it, perhaps because they were both male. Or maybe because it wasn’t some Cupid-induced buffoonery. What Bunnymund and Jack had was far more true than what he was witnessing now, and he didn’t like this at all.

Settling on a large cloud of glowing dreamsand, he flicked his wrists and long tendrils burst forth, spreading their ethereal, comforting light throughout the Warren. They met with Bunnymund first, puffing into his face, and immediately the Pooka began to droop mid-sentence. Toothiana gasped and looked up, feathery eyebrows drawn angrily.

“Sandy, what the –?!” But she didn’t get the time to finish. Another billow of sand and she was out like a light too. Pulling up his sleeves – metaphorically – he set to work sifting through their dreams. He didn’t have the greatest experience with love dreams, far too out of practice with anything like that (and he didn’t care to linger on the memories of what preparation he’d had before, that was eons ago, and he felt old thinking about it). But he knew all about Dreams, every single one, even the Nightmares that weren’t his field, and these were the fakest dreams he’d even seen. A pink haze surrounded them, noxious and off-putting to any outsider who dared to look in the mind of a Dreamer, and Sandy had a little difficulty pushing it back.

Beyond it was a muddled, hastily-cobbled dream of Bunnymund and Toothiana, a little too shiny and perfect to be a true Love Dream. Fake, like nearly everything Cupid made nowadays. He’d seen the true essence of his friends’ dreams, and they were nothing like this. If Toothiana truly did feel such things for Bunnymund, she’d be inspecting his teeth – Toothiana was strange like that – and this impromptu picnic he was seeing would involve entirely sugar-free snacks.

Bunnymund’s dreams about Jack were different to this mockery, this offence to his profession. They involved chases and laughter and snow banks and rolling on grass, and whenever Sandy got a glimpse at them they always made him feel warm inside, despite the dull ache. There were other dreams too, but Sandy was nothing if not decent and refused to go near those. They were _not_ for his eyes.

As it was, these current dreams made him feel terribly angry and insulted, not only for his job but also for his friends. Cupid had no right doing this. Spirits were off-limits to other spirit magic, unless you were looking for a fight.

With quick, elegant movements, he fashioned the perfect dreams for them. The scent of spice and peppermint, of ink and baking, the warmth of wood and a low belly laugh for Toothiana, and quick laughter, the darting energy of snow and the delicate grace of frost for Bunnymund.

The pink dreams fought bravely – the magic was just doing its job after all, it had no mind of its own beyond its primary purpose – but it was no match for Sandy. The dreamers twitched, annoyed at being denied what they thought they wanted and instead being given what they needed. Sandy settled in, lounging prone on his cloud, fending off the arrow dreams whenever they got the strength to fight back.

Toothiana eventually settled into an easy slumber, curled up happily with her wings fluttering in time with her eyelids, smiling to herself. Bunnymund… he was being more difficult. Perhaps it was because it was he that had been hit by the arrow, but the fake dreams were snarling like captive lions, and it took more concentration to keep them at bay and keep up the dream of Jack. He tried something stronger, teasing and pet names he heard every time they were together, the brush of fingers through Bunnymund’s fur.

Sandy didn’t like the way the pink haze kept trying to turn Jack’s cool touch into Toothiana’s, or icy blue eyes alight with mischief into warm lilac. He soldiered on, adding depth to the dream, as much as he could as he worked with Bunnymund’s own dreams, the ones his mind made for itself, the demonstrations of longing and need now fulfilled. He pulled that Jack from them, the soft, sultry Jack, the quiet Jack of time alone, and wove him into the current dream, erecting a fence that the haze could not get through, a fence of snow and affection.

The haze roared its displeasure, pacing outside the barrier, searching for chinks. But Sandy was no fool, and was certainly not going to leave his dream open to attack. Slowly but surely, Bunnymund began to settle, his sleep evening out and his limbs becoming less tense. Sandy relaxed with a silent sigh, flopping to the side tiredly. He kept a watchful eye on Bunnymund’s dream, checked Toothiana’s and then concentrated on keeping the pink haze out. It was dangerous, it was cunning, and Sandy wished he could simply dispel it, push it out by force, but it didn’t work like that.

“Is it working?” asked a soft voice beside him. Floating cross-legged on a stiff breeze, Jack peered down at his friend and his lover, biting his lip in worry. Sandy offered a reassuring smile, and the pink haze attacked. It took vicious advantage of the barest second Sandy’s concentration slipped, and the Guardian of Dreams was powerless as it latched onto the dream, seeping into it and refusing to let go.

Sandy cursed mentally, brow furrowing. He’d laid the perfect foundation for the blasted thing, leeching off his own meticulously created dream to make itself more powerful. Sandy slammed into it, but the haze locked up, allowing him no access whatsoever. He pressed his hands to his mouth in horror.

“What? What is it?” Jack demanded, voice desperate. Sandy shook his head, and with carefully sculpted dreamsand he tried to tell Jack what had happened. Jack groaned.

“So… no luck?” he murmured. A figure of Toothiana, and he gave the boy a thumbs-up – that dream was still working magnificently, sweet and warm. A figure of Bunnymund and a quick shake of the head. He created an image of the Hulk.

“Too strong?” Jack asked, and Sandy nodded morosely. Jack’s gaze fell, his shoulders slumping with a trembling sigh. He tried to smile at the small pat on his leg, but it fell short of being more than a vague, half-hearted twitch.

.

Jack was pacing. That was never good. It meant he was halfway to brooding in a corner, and brooding Jack was an unpleasant Jack. The only one who could get him out of that was Bunnymund, and they didn’t _have_ Bunnymund.

But as it was, they weren’t at that point yet. They were still at pacing, and while Jack was hyperactive they still had a chance to resolve things in a way that didn’t involve furious snowstorms and a rift they potentially could not mend.

“So, what’s our plan B?” Jack asked, finally stopping and folding his arms. Sandy had had no choice but to retreat from the Warren, when Bunnymund awoke, allowing Toothiana to wake up as well, and he was sitting, curled up on a chair, obviously feeling terribly guilty over his failure. North stood, pressing his knuckles into the table with a low, determined sigh.

“I will try reason,” he said. Jack snorted derisively.

“Yeah, because that’ll so work,” he scoffed. North’s eyebrows rose and he straightened. His knuckles cracked louder than the logs in the fireplace.

“I did not say reason with words,” he said with a smirk.

.

Despite what North had told Jack, in all honestly, he didn’t really want to come to fisticuffs over the whole situation. Regardless of his natural ebullience and penchant for dramatic entries, he could be reasonable and talk things over. He was better at that than some people gave him credit for, and far more persuasive, simply through sincerity. Sincerity got you far. People came to him to advice, precisely because he was sincere about it. Why, not even a month ago he’d given Bunny the best advice of the Pooka’s life, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, either. He was sure a good talking to would at least help Jack somewhat.

“Bunny!” he bellowed, tromping through the Warren, carefully avoiding the more delicate-looking flowers as he went. A faint snatch of familiar giggling caught his ear, and he headed in its direction. He did love the sound of her laugh, delicate, sweet, like the tinkling of a silver bell.

Pushing aside a stubborn juniper bush, he finally caught sight of them. They were sitting on a rock by a small river. Toothiana was tittering behind one of her dainty hands, the other clutched between large, dark grey paws. Bunnymund crooned something North couldn’t hear, and she blushed.

It took more self-control than many would have thought possible of him to not charge out, sabres bared, and give Bunnymund a piece of his mind or three, with helpful practical demonstrations in the form of absurdly sharp blades.

Instead, he struggled from the bush and laughed heartily. “Bunny! Tooth!”

Two heads snapped in his direction, their expressions very different. Toothiana looked surprised to see him there. Bunnymund looked downright livid.

“Is _everyone_ trying to get in our way?” he growled. North cleared his throat, drawing himself up straight in order to look as intimidating as possible.

“Bunny, you and I must have talk,” he said, in a tone that allowed no room for protest, token or serious may it have been. Bunnymund gave him the most unimpressed look possible.

“Uh-huh? Right, because I’m definitely going to interrupt spending the day with the love of my life to talk to you.”

North resisted the urge to hit something, preferably Bunnymund’s face, at those words. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. Bunny wasn’t in his right mind, it was simply the arrow talking.

“No, Bunny,” he said gently, soothingly. “You know that is not true. Tooth is not love of your life…”

Before he could entirely finish that sentence, Bunnymund had pounced. It took considerable strength to floor North’s girth, but the Pooka had years of martial arts and practicing them on his side, and he put them to good use. He growled in North’s face, and up this close, his eyes didn’t look entirely… his. There were wisps of pink within his green irises, and it wasn’t often that North was disturbed by something. It looked so unnatural on his friend that he almost forgot to be indignant about being floored.

“You belittling my feelings, mate?” Bunnymund said, his voice dangerously low.

“They are not real,” North replied, eyebrows knitting. “And you know it, Bunny.”

This time, North managed to see it coming. The way Bunnymund’s paw drew back, clenched in a fist, was enough to clue him into the arriving punch. With a roar he raised a leg and kicked Bunnymund in the gut, throwing the Pooka onto the grass with a thud.

North quickly sprang to his feet, in time to see Bunnymund roll onto all fours and slide across the grass, teeth bared in rage. He lunged again, and the Guardian of Wonder dodged, his coat billowing after him like a red shadow. He ignored Tooth’s cry of Bunnymund’s name, no matter how much it hurt, and followed his kick with a hard punch.

Bunny let out an ‘ooph’, but this time he managed to get in his own hit to North’s chest. North stumbled back, but recovered quickly.

“What about Jack?” the Russian demanded. Bunnymund faltered for a split-second, his expression flickering to something like recognition, the briefest cry for help. It was gone before North could take advantage of it, and Bunnymund snorted as he kicked North’s feet from underneath.

“What about Frost?” he asked. “He’s nothing but a friend, if that.”

North froze, staring in horror. This wasn’t going at all liked he’d hoped it would, and he had no choice but to defend himself from Bunnymund’s fury. The fight continued, both landing and dodging punches and kicks with more force than necessary for two old friends. Bunnymund dived at North, snarling very uncharacteristically. North didn’t have the time to dodge, and with a splash they both ended up in the river.

Bunnymund was the first to haul himself out, shaking his fur and giving North a twisted look of hatred. “Stay away from the Warren,” he growled, turning into Tooth’s anxious ministrations with a reassuring smile. North heaved himself from the river, his coat heavy with water.

“You will regret this, Bunny,” he said sadly. Bunnymund half-turned to merely sneer at him. “You will break Jack’s heart, and your own.”

The Pooka rolled his eyes and turned away, but North did not miss the way his paw clutched the side of his head, rubbing gently. And so the Cossack retreated to the Pole, tail between his legs, to report his failure.

.

When North returned with bad news, it took all of Jack’s willpower to not allow the Wind to snatch him and bear him away, anywhere, it didn’t matter at all. Somewhere he could scream his frustration to the cold midnight sun, and be alone and mourn his loss.

Despite this deep need, he stayed put, hands twisting convulsively around his staff. He looked at Sandy’s hourglass, and the bottom plummeted out of his stomach. Two hours. All they had left were two, horribly brief hours. Sandy’s hand was tiny, barely a weight on his shoulder, but Jack appreciated the effort nonetheless.

“I am sorry, Jack,” North murmured, sitting down with his head bent as if he’d failed the children of all the world.

“No!”

Sandy jerked his hand back, and North looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. Jack’s face was a mask of determination, jaw set and eyes lit with a cold, stubborn fire.

“I’m not going to give up!” He began to pace, twirling his staff around and leaving twirling patterns of frost across the floor where he passed. “We need to get them apart. I need to talk to Bunny on my own…” He ran a hand through his windswept shock of white hair, biting his lip. “Ok, you’ve kidnapped before, you can do it again.”

“Bunny is considerably more difficult to kidnap than scrawny teenager,” North remarked, beard twitching. Jack gave him a withering look, but shook his head.

“We kidnap Tooth,” he announced. North’s eyes widened.

“You have gone mad!” he said, shaking his own head incredulously. “Tooth is warrior queen! She is just as dangerous as Bunny. You are not ever being on receiving end of her wrath, are you?”

Contrary to North, Sandy looked rather pensive. He was stroking his chin and frowning slightly, as if silently weighing options in his head. He clapped his hands and both of his fellow Guardians turned towards him. The shimmer of dreamsand above his head morphed into Tooth, and a similar figure appeared beside her, this time Sandy. The dreamsand version of himself threw a handful of sand into Tooth’s face. North bundled her up and leapt through a portal. Jack smirked.

“Exactly what I was thinking. Great minds think alike, huh, little man?”

Sandy bowed. North rolled his eyes. “And Bunny?”

“Leave Bunnymund to me,” Jack said, his voice fierce.

.

It took Jack a few brief moments to work up the courage to slot his Warren key into its proper niche. It seemed so terrifying to do so, now, when only a few brief hours ago it had been such a demonstration of trust and affection… He shook off his doubts and opened his tunnel, sliding down with North and Sandy at his heels.

He hadn’t been expecting the egg sentinels to be waiting for them, blocking the way every direction they turned. It seemed Bunnymund was determined to obtain his privacy, by any means possible. The great faces spun with the jarring sound of grinding stone, and the three backed away.

But they couldn’t defend the sky from unwanted intruders.

With a gust, Jack darted into the air, Sandy following.

“Oh, wonderful, just be leaving me here!” North grumbled. Sandy shrugged apologetically, but let down a dreamsand rope that the Cossack grabbed onto, hauling him out of the sentinels’ reach.

It wasn’t that difficult to find Bunnymund and Toothiana after that. The Pooka didn’t seem particularly pleased to see them, if the boomerang was anything to go by.

“What the bloody hell do you lot want now?” he demanded. Toothiana herself was scowling, arms folded. Jack smirked.

“Just your undivided attention, Skippy,” he said, pointing his staff straight at Bunnymund’s face.

Bunnymund really was too easy. A quick shot of frost at the face and he was after you, throwing insults and boomerangs like there was no tomorrow. The only problem was that this was Bunnymund’s home turf, and there was no way Jack would win this race. Not that he ever did, but while he wasn’t putting his best into it, Bunnymund was. The Pooka was deadly serious, if the vicious sound of a boomerang slicing the air wasn’t obvious enough.

With a snarl, Bunnymund lunged, flooring the winter sprite against the soft grass of the Warren. It was such a familiar movement, Jack almost forgot the situation, raising a hand to weave his fingers through the soft fur of Bunnymund’s face. The rabbit’s expression was strange, floating between recognition of the moment and furious anger. The moment passed as soon as it had come, and Bunnymund was growling in Jack’s face, eyes veiled with a thick pink haze.

“Bunny, please…” Jack murmured, daring to brush his hand across Bunnymund’s face. Bunnymund reared away, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Get out, Frost,” he said, low and dangerous. “And give me back the key.”

Jack stared at the demanding paw held out, fingers clutching the wooden oval at his throat. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take _this_ gift back, not when it had meant so much…

Seeing that Jack had no intention of doing as he said, Bunnymund strode forward and took the key himself, snapping the thin leather cord with a sharp tug. Jack yelped, grabbing for it, but Bunnymund barely acknowledged him, turning and loping away.

“Aster!”

Bunnymund froze, ears twitching. He turned, ever so slightly, eyes wide.

“What?”

Using his staff for leverage, Jack got to his feet, eyebrows knitted. “That’s your name,” he said. “E. Aster Bunnymund.”

Bunnymund stared at him. “How…?”

“You told me,” Jack said, voice growing in confidence. “You told me one night. You held my hands and told me your name, and why you never use it anymore. You’re always _Bunny_ now, because _Aster_ reminds you of everyone you lost. But you told _me_.” His voice failed him, and he pressed a hand to his face.

When he finally took it away, Bunnymund was closer than before, peering at him with what looked like morbid curiosity.

“What else do you know?” the Pooka asked.

“You… you prefer your carrot cake with lemon, not orange,” Jack said reflexively. “Your favourite chocolate is the purest you can get, the really bitter kind. You always fall asleep on one side and wake up on the other. You wear glasses to read in bed, they’re egg-shaped and gold-rimmed and you laugh when I wear them…” His voice broke, and he raised a hand to rub viciously across his eyes. He shouldn’t be crying, he shouldn’t, it would ruin everything, but he couldn’t help it. When he thought he could lose Bunnymund forever because of some idiot, and he would be the only one that remembered the moments they’d shared, the feelings that had grown so powerful and fierce over such a short time… He forced himself to keep talking, to keep telling Bunnymund all the things he knew and loved. “You love blackcurrant tea the best, and you sat with me all night and listened when I got all my memories back. You…”

He couldn’t go on. He pressed a hand to his mouth to keep in a sob, gripping his staff like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. But he had to go on, didn’t he? He had to convince Bunny he wasn’t there for some stupid, fleeting reason. He was there because he loved him. He forced the tears back down with a long, deep breath through his nose and looked up, determined. Bunnymund was still there, still as a statue, torn, and it gave Jack all the hope he needed.

“And you love it when I…” Jack reached forward, crooking a finger beneath Bunnymund’s chin and scratching ever-so-gently. Bunnymund’s eyes closed, giving in to the feeling, and Jack dared to smile. He pressed a hand to Bunnymund’s cheek, carding his fingers through familiar fur, and Bunnymund’s eyes opened, green and pure and not a flicker of pink to be seen.

The angry buzz of wings ruined broke the spell, and the pink came surging back, virulent and so _wrong_. The Pooka turned, leaving Jack’s hand behind.

Toothiana had darted into the meadow, now hovering in mid-air with her tiny hands clasped to her breast. Behind her came Sandy and North, looking as apologetic as they could. Bunnymund took a step towards her, strangely tentative, as if he was unsure. With a flick of Sandy’s wrists, the hourglass appeared. The bottom dropped out of Jack’s stomach.

The sand in the top half was so little he could barely see it.

“Seconds!” North exclaimed in horror, the dreamsand above Sandy’s head whirring manically through a thousand different symbols in his alarm.

Jack panicked. He prayed this would work.

“Bunny!” he called. Bunnymund turned slightly, jerkily, a quizzical expression on his face.

“I love you!” Jack declared, pulling him into a kiss.

He didn’t hear anything after that. The entire world seem to slow to a standstill, in suspended animation. Jack held on as tight as he could, trying to pour everything he felt into that one, clumsy kiss. Bunnymund had to remember! He _had_ to!

Jack didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t.

He startled when he felt paws on the tops of his arms, holding him tightly, and mentally he conceded defeat. Bunnymund would never be his again. He squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears in as he pulled away. It wouldn’t do to cry, really. He should have known he had no hope from the start. He kept his eyes closed as he stepped back – he didn’t think he could look at Bunnymund right now. It would hurt far too much, his heart might not make it through it…

The paws on his arms didn’t let go.

“Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going, ice block?”

Jack opened his eyes in shock as he was pulled back into another kiss and enfolded in strong, furry arms. Then time seemed to speed up again, and there was sound in the world once more. He heard North cheer, and Toothiana groan, but all he could do was wrap his arms around Bunnymund’s neck and let himself be lifted off the ground as easily as if he’d weighed less than a feather.

This time Bunnymund allowed him to pull back, eyes wide and his smile one of utter relief, as the Pooka pressed a hand to his head with a grimace.

“Feel like I’ve been hit in the head with a cricket bat,” he groaned. Jack bit his lip.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked cautiously.

“Much to my embarrassment,” Bunnymund replied, sounding disgusted with himself. “What the bloody hell happened?” He caught Toothiana’s eye and they both winced in unison. “Sorry,” he added. She shook her head with an embarrassed shrug, and continued to knead at her temples.

“It was Cupid,” Jack said. “He shot an arrow, and poof!, you two were all over each other. It was…” He trailed off, still sore.

“Bastard!” Bunnymund growled, cracking his knuckles. Jack chuckled.

“Gonna give him a piece of your mind?”

Bunnymund smirked something vicious. “Oh, I’ll give him a gobful, all right.”

Jack reached up, placing his hands on Bunnymund’s ruff, weaving his fingers through the soft fur and relieved he could still do it.

“I was so, so scared you wouldn’t snap out of it,” he murmured. The Pooka ran a paw down Jack’s face, cupping his cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said. He nuzzled at Jack’s face, his cold, wet nose making Jack tremble slightly, before rubbing his chin all over the boy’s hair.

“You didn’t do that to Tooth, did you?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. Bunnymund huffed a small laugh.

“Thank the Moon I didn’t, otherwise _that_ would’ve been awkward. For some reason, I wasn’t… acting like myself. No instinct, just the foolish way humans act.”

“ _Some_ humans,” Jack corrected. “I don’t act like that.”

Bunnymund snorted, and Jack elbowed him in the gut, which just made the Pooka laugh. “Right then, I think we’ve got some revenge to dish out,” he announced.

.

It would have been pitch dark on Mount Olympus, had the Moon not been huge and full and the stars had not twinkled on the strangely clear February night. The first to greet them was the Wind, in his human form again, looking very pleased to see Jack and Bunnymund walking next to each other, and that explained the lack of clouds.

“Cupid is going to be _so_ angry,” the boy said cheerfully, hanging upside down in front of them and making Jack eternally grateful for the fact the Wind’s tunic followed its own laws of physics, gleefully defying gravity. “He’s not used to his plans backfiring. Not that he’s been very good at his job, lately.”

“He won’t be much good at doing anything but bleeding, soon,” Bunnymund growled, marching determinedly towards the last and only temple still standing.

“You know,” the Wind whispered to Jack, “I get what you see in him.”

Jack blushed and batted his friend away.

It was dark, and it seemed Cupid was sleeping off the killer hangover he’d sported a few hours ago. That did absolutely nothing to deter Bunnymund, whose ears swivelled, pin-pointing the other spirit’s position with ease. He loomed over the creaking couch, silent as the grave, and then pounced.

He pulled Cupid up as roughly as he could, jerking the god awake, and snarled. Bunnymund was getting awfully good at those snarls, lately, Jack would have to have a word with him about that. As it was, all the winter sprite did was admire how the lights came on as Cupid awoke and step up next to Bunnymund, staff yoked over his shoulders, wearing a smirk that screamed “told you so”.

“What’th all thith?!” Cupid squeaked, struggling. It was entirely in vain given Bunnymund’s strength, and the Pooka barely moved a muscle as he brought Cupid closer to his twitching nose.

“You know very well what this is all about, mate,” he said. “You think you can just bloody well march in and mess with people and their relationships?”

Cupid yelped when a sharp piece of wood came precariously close to his eye.

“Spend less time with a gutful of piss, more time minding your own business. Do I make myself _clear_?”

Perfectly round blue eyes went from the wooden blade to Bunnymund’s face. Cupid gulped, nodded ever-so-slightly and looked intensely relieved when Bunnymund let him go. He fell heavily to the chaise, which finally gave up the ghost and cracked spectacularly in two. Jack winced at the sound, then grinned. Justice, or at least some form of it, had been served.

“Th-tho,” Cupid began, clambering to his feet from the splintered wood, “you and Jack Frotht really are…?”

“And what of it?” Bunnymund challenged, running a nail along the edge of his blade warningly. Cupid blinked at them for a long moment, then waved his hands in a placating manner.

“No, no, nothing. It’th lovely, betht of luck to you both!”

“Right, well, now that’s sorted…” Bunnymund put away his blade and made his way down the steps, towards the door. He stopped halfway, as if remembering something. “Just wanted to tell you: Toothiana said she’d pop by tomorrow. Y’know, to _thank you_.” He punctuated the last two words with an evil grin and two punches to his palm. Cupid whimpered, turning deathly pale, and Jack sniggered, following Bunnymund as they left.

“Well, I’m glad _that’s_ over,” Jack said once they were in the Warren, skiving the debriefing North had insisted on. The old man would tell them off later, but he probably also understood why they weren’t present. “We missed Valentine’s Day, though,” he added, a little glumly.

“You sound disappointed,” Bunnymund stated, settling on his haunches in front of the winter spirit. Jack shrugged noncommittally, deliberately not looking at the Pooka in front of him. Bunnymund sighed, placing his paws on either side of Jack’s neck, stroking cool cheeks with his thumbs. “There’ll be plenty of Valentine’s Days, y’know.”

Jack raised his head. “Yeah, but this was… the first. Special. Sort of.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Bunnymund promised, smiling. “But only after Easter.”

Jack groaned, letting his forehead bump against Bunnymund’s nose. It was worth it to have the other snuffle at his hair like that, though. “Ok, I can deal with that. _If_ you let me make it snow.”

“Not on your nelly,” Bunnymund said, pulling away with a hard frown. Jack chuckled, and got a slap on the rump for his joking before he could dart away far enough.

“Well, I guess… you could make it up to me now. Somehow. Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”

Bunnymund rolled his eyes. “You have a filthy mind, Frost. You shouldn’t be allowed to be a Guardian of Childhood.” He set out towards his Burrow.

“You love it!” Jack protested. Bunnymund suddenly stopped again, and pulled Jack into his arms, nuzzling at his head gently.

“That I do,” he admitted. Jack hid his smile in warm fur, barely even making a token protest as he was flung over a shoulder and carried to the Burrow itself.


End file.
